


to dream of sleep

by Blueberries (Blueberries_Pen)



Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [23]
Category: DCU
Genre: Cameras, Exhaustion, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Noncontober 2020, Shower Sex, Sleep Deprivation, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27159520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueberries_Pen/pseuds/Blueberries
Summary: Slade forgets, sometimes, that Robin doesn't have his stamina.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947430
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65





	to dream of sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Day 23: Shower sex  
> Recording  
> Exhaustion/sleep deprivation

Slade thrusts into him, heavy, grunting before he pulls out and lets come paint stripes of white all across Robin’s body - from his stomach to his chest to chin to cheek. Robin blinks slowly, eyes heavy, and doesn’t move. No point to it, not when his body is already more than covered in it. 

His body aches. Slade had started last night, and now, it was already noon. And Slade was  _ still  _ hard. 

Robin just wants to  _ sleep,  _ but that’s a little hard to do when the concrete floor digs into his bare back and Slade just keeps on  _ fucking.  _

But this time, Slade doesn’t immediately start fucking him again, so Robin lets his eyes flutter shut, hoping he’s allowed to pass out now. 

“Get up, boy,” Slade orders lazily, and Robin just cracks an eye open and  _ stares,  _ pointedly, until Slade remembers that he’s not a superhuman than can still be a functional human being after twelve hours of fucking. His fingers still twitch, trying feebly to obey, but of course his body doesn’t work like that.

With a frown, Slade picks him up the neck. Robin whines softly at the sudden shift, feeling come trickle down his thighs, but then Slade’s carrying him in his arms and it’s just so…  _ comfortable,  _ that he begins to drift.

He returns to consciousness with a shock of cold water to his system and gasping as he feels water feel his lungs, coughing and sputtering and adrenaline briefly giving him enough of a jolt to just feebly shift and push blindly and lash out-

“Stop that,” Slade snaps, shifting so that the shower doesn’t directly fall on Robin anymore. 

Ah. Slade’s being nice. Cleaning him up. That’s nice.

Something flashes at the corner of his eyes. Robin’s eyes flicker. A camera.  _ Cameras,  _ he corrects, spotting more.

That’s… not so nice. Robin misses the days Slade still had enough - shame? Self respect? Cautiousness? Decency? -  _ something  _ to keep them hidden. 

His brain’s exhausted, not really working at the moment, and he gets the feeling he’s missing something. Why did Slade need so many of them?

Hands lift his hips, Slade pushes his cock into Robin -  _ oh, that's why - _ and Robin hisses. His ass should honestly be numb by now - with how much Slade’s been pounding into him it’s a miracle his nerves aren’t dead - but instead he still feels every bit of hurt. 

Robin just wants to  _ sleep.  _

He doesn’t even have to clean - that’s an impossibility anyway. 

Just…  _ sleep.  _

His head thumps against the shower fall, eyes closing trying to push away enough sensations that he can just rest. He‘s  _ tired,  _ damn it. He doesn’t have Slade’s stamina. He can’t keep up, and Slade so easily seems to forget that he’s only that. 

Water strikes his face and gives him a rude awakening, sputtering again. 

He glares weakly at Slade, but Slade just lets out a huff of laughter. “Smile for the camera, pet,” he says.

Robin’s too tired for this bullshit, just stares blankly back at Slade, blinking water out his eyes. He stays limp. If Slade dropped him again, Robin would just fall asleep right there, on the shower floor.

“Don’t be boring, pet,” Slade complains.

_ Twelve hours of sex is boring,  _ Robin thinks dully, but doesn’t say. He knows better than to talk back. If it weren’t for the danger of the water choking him, he’d be sleeping now, too. 

He doesn’t care - isn’t capable of caring - about the state of his body, or how he looks, or even keeping Slade placated, something that usually makes him frantic. He’s just… blank. Tired. Thoughts moving too sluggishly for him to care, to register anything at all. Nothing matters.

Time blurs, seconds ticking away with the pitter patter of the falling water drops, blurred with the easy slide of Slade’s cock in and out of him. He thinks Slade talks, but he can’t really listen. Words blur too. Everything does. 

He just wants to  _ sleep. _

Fuck damn it, is it too much to ask for some  _ rest? _

**Author's Note:**

> Meh.


End file.
